


Days Go Past

by Katastrof



Series: Memories Passing Me By [1]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Daddy Issues, Fluff, Gen, I've never scienced in my life, Idiots who should be nowhere near children, Kid - Freeform, M/M, Parental Frank Fontaine, Reluctant, Slice of Life, There aint no Atlas, Well Bioshock IS Daddy Issues the series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:29:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katastrof/pseuds/Katastrof
Summary: "You were my ace in the hole, but you were also the closest thing I ever had to a son. And that's why this hurts. Betrayal, kid. Life ain't strictly business."Bringing it into his home, feeding it, clothing it, was never part of the planGetting attached to it... was never part of the plan.Prequel to Memories Passing Me By





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct prequel to my other story 'Memories Passing Me By' while both can be read standalone, this may add more context for certain moments in MPMB.
> 
> _...If I get around to actually writing them._

“So, this is the kid?”

“Fetus.”

“Right, so how much longer is it gonna be a ‘fetus’?”

“That is undetermined at this time.”

It was so small, maybe about the size of a penny.

“How old’s it?”

“9 weeks.”

“And how long the show girl carry it for?”

“8.”

Damn, that was 80 grand. Gone for something as small as a penny.

“Any work been done yet?”

“Keeping alive out of _utero_ is work”

Smart ass kraut.

“I’m talkin’ about enhancements, training, makin’ it bigger _quicker_.”

“There is nothing to yet enhance, it does not even possess a real mind to train.” German bitch sounded so condescending all the time. 

“Well what about makin’ it _grow_ , I ain’t waitin’ no 20 years.”

“Rapid aging plasmid is still in the trial stages, right now it is causing defects in rat young, resulting in unstable intellectual and physical development in the unnaturally short period of life it lives.”

“You told me you could grow a human being in less than a year.” He better not have just blown eighty-thousand bucks on the crackpot dreams of a madwoman.

“I say no such thing, I simply stated that given enough funding for equipment and of course, access to copious amounts of ADAM that it would be possible.”

“Yeah? And what exactly are you missin’? Look around ya toots, you’re surrounded by the best technology money can buy, and now we got those little girls makin’ ADAM by the gallons!”

“It is still not enough, the rapid aging agent is requiring large consumption of ADAM on even tiny rat.”

“Ha! More ADAM, that all? I’m already building another orphanage, hell I’ll even promote it as a school for the poor man who wants to send his baby girl to get the best education he can’t afford! More girls, more ADAM. Problem solved. Anything _else?_ ”

The German doctor nodded amicably before steeling herself for her next request.

“Just one thing. Infant human test subjects. This plasmid cannot be perfected on rats alone.”

The man didn’t bat an eye. In fact, him being ever the problem solver, he didn’t have to think too hard on a solution for that.

“They gotta be _fetuses_?” He’d paid Andrew Ryan’s whore 10 grand for every week she carried his seed, those things were expensive.

“It would be preferable but not absolutely necessary, children are applicable but the younger the better,” the German doctor stated matter-of-factly.

Woman sounded like she was chattin’ ‘bout the weather.

If there was one thing Frank Fontaine liked about these scientist types, it was their moral ambiguity.

But that was just the typical crowd that ran in Rapture.

God bless this city.

“Good, then we use the litters we’re housin’ at the orphanage that’re still too young to be little ADAM factories. Waitin’ on ‘em to grow is just a waste anyway.”

Dr. Brigid Tenenbaum gave another nod and started scrawling on her clipboard, already making plans on how to use her future _test subjects._

Fontaine turned his attention back to his eighty-grand speck, floating in the just as expensive, glorified fish tank. If he pressed his nose to the glass he could just barely make out the silhouette of what looked like a bean.

“Got a magnifying glass?” he wanted to see what he’d bought.

“Of course, over there somewhere,” Tenenbaum, too busy sticking her beady eyes in some machine, gave a vague flick of her wrist in the direction of a table covered in all kinds of sciencey shit.

Fontaine searched over the messy table of doohickeys he knew he’d paid for but had no idea what they actually were. Becoming frustrated he was about to tell the woman to come find it for him.

“Ah, I also have photographs of up close if that is what you are wanting.”

Fuckin’ _bitch_

“And why wasn’t I made aware of these?” He glowered, annoyed with her knack for wasting his time.

“Because they were in copy of report sent to you four days ago, _Sir,”_ Her voice was devoid of emotion yet still so _sassy_.

He’d always liked a bit of sass in a lass.

Fontaine examined the photos in hand. So, this is what it looked like. It was indeed shaped like a bean, organs and veins visible through transparent skin, eyes like beady dots on a bulging head. Its limbs, ill-defined fingers and legs that were mere nubs.

It looked like a worm.

“Heh, takes after his father.”

Tenenbaum, didn’t bother looking to confirm his opinion, just stared down at her clipboard scribbling more notes in a language that looked like gibberish.

“Hmm, she very well might.”

Wait.

“You mean _he_.”

“It could be she.”

“No, it has to be a boy.”

“That cannot be determined by me.”

“I thought the thing was supposed to be by _my_ design.”

“Biological gender is determined as sperm penetrates egg. It cannot be changed.”

“Well what the hell is it?”

“That cannot yet be said. At 14, maybe 15 weeks its gender will become apparent enough to tell.”

Fontaine looked back to the topic of their discussion, the speck floating around in a tube of bright pink goop.

“It’s a boy,” He stated decisively, leaving no room for argument.

 

***

 

“It is boy.”

Fontaine manage to contain his gloating to a pointed smirk and the lighting of a cigar.

He’d always had the problem of being a bit of a braggart.

Brigid really couldn’t care one way or the other.

At 15 weeks the thing looked slightly more human, but still ugly as sin.

“Knew it was. Now, about growin’ it bigger?”

“I was planning on introducing a miniscule dosage of the rapid aging agent to the amniotic fluids of the fetus to be absorbed. Recent testing has proved promising with our newest subjects.” Tenenbaum motioned him to follow, already on the move. They stood in a corridor of glass on each side, two-way mirrors to observe the girls housed in there.

One side of the glass held ‘normal’ little girls, recently implanted with sea slugs and under watch. The girls ages 4 to 10 respectively, were playing and laughing in their shared space. The opposite observation chamber also detained females but of various ages and… _builds._

 “These girls are the ones who survived the rapid ageing treatments, as you can see there were…side effects.” Fontaine snorted at that. One way to put it.

To be blunt, the girls were half-formed, malnourished looking carney freaks

Most looked to be well past their 20s but they weren’t very lively. Some lie on the beds they had to share or were propped against the walls, few were making low nonsensical sounds, one out right crying like a baby.

Fontaine observed them in morbid fascination, eyes draw to the most animated one. It looked to be in its mid-40s, crouched in front of a doll house banging a toy against the structure and giggling happily, it had a large overbite and protruding ears but its most notable feature was its mostly bald, misshapen head adorned with a bow on the small section of curled hair she had. His eyes swept over the dozen or so girls or rather ‘women’, one sway on uneven legs and had stubbed arms, another sat banging her bulging cranium against the two-way mirror.

“There, that one is latest result of accelerated aging.”

Fontaine peered at the young girl Tenenbaum nodded to. She looked the youngest in the room, couldn’t be no more than 14, she lay on a bed too small for her, expression dazed and unfocused as she held an arm in the air, moving her fingers as if it were her first time seeing them. Despite looking as undernourished as the rest and having too gangly limbs, she was defiantly the most normal of the freak show, but still seemed _off._

“She soft in the head or something?”

“Or something. Her body may now be that of a young woman but 3 weeks ago that girl was an infant of 10 months age, and despite her brain being fully developed her _mind_ is not.”

Fontaine didn’t have to bother voicing his questions. His arched brow said enough.

Tenenbaum gave a frustrated sigh and slumped her shoulders before explaining.

“This woman has gained no knowledge of such things as motor skills, speech, or even basic awareness. She has retained the same cognitive state she had before, that of an infant.”

Ah, he understood now. The kraut just found a way to turn a baby into an adult sized baby.

“So, you mean to tell me after all the money I’ve thrown into growing Ryan’s seed all I’m gonna get for it is a braindead man-child?” his tone became a jeer at the prospect of so much time and money wasted on Ryan.

“Not at all, what I am meaning is that along with its physiology, its cognizance must be developed as well.”

It was sometimes difficult having to understand the German with her thick accent and fancy two-dollar words but he got the gist, they gotta teach it things. Makes sense, don’t know why he’d expected it to just form into a decently educated human being.

“Then ‘develop its cognizance’, what’s the problem?” He knew the only reason she was bringing this up with him and not already working on it was because she needed something.

“I excel in study of genetics and biology, ways of the mind and its processes do not come as easily to me. We are needing to bring in someone who is more well-versed in neurological sciences, such as-“

“Suchong.”

He should have figured he’d have to bring in the oriental for this project at some point, but wanting as few people in on his pet project as possible, he’d hoped he could leave it all to the kraut.

Suchong was already under his employment to work alongside Tenenbaum on the development of plasmids and was his lead researcher. The bastard could be called a con-man in his own right though, as Fontaine knew he was working both sides of Ryan Industries and Fontaine Futuristics.

What’s worse is the man knew he was indispensable, and he made sure Fontaine knew it too. The fucker didn’t come cheap.

Another reason he’d wanted to keep the slant out of this.

Fontaine regarded the freak show and only half normal looking girl, her arm now just making lazy swaying motions in the air.

Fontaine heaved a sigh of defeat.

“Fine. Get him on and bring him up to speed. When he wants to talk price tell him to drop me a line.” Feeling done here, he’d let the expensive eggheads hash out the details.

On his way out, Fontaine rapped his knuckles on the expensive fish tank.

“See ya, kid.”

 

***

 

“Suchong does not _think_ , Suchong _knows_ leaving baby in pod for longer is waste of time!” The Asian had thrown a clipboard and was red in the face.

“The fetus is requiring more time for incubation, its make-up is comparable to that of one aged a natural 7 months, removing it now is only taking needless risk,” Tenenbaum was as reserved as ever, speaking calmly as if to a child and not a man twice her age.

This is what Fontaine walked into, the two so called ‘greatest minds’ in Rapture once again butting heads.

Both scientists stood, facing off in front of the larger and even more expensive tank they called a ‘gestation tube’ filled with orange glowing goop.

“There would _be_ no risks if administering another dosage of Lot 111 to baby!”

“Doing so, would only put its health in greater danger, its body cannot handle such growth spurts in great succession.”

Not having come to watch the intellectual’s bicker, Fontaine made his presence known.

“I aint paying you two to fight, do it on your own time.” He walked further in the lab and up to the larger tank they’d moved the fetus to.

Fontaine was astounded to see how much it had changed, it looked like an actual human baby at this point, if not a bit too thin. His surprise must have been evident because Tenenbaum felt the need to come up to him and give an oral report.

“The fetus’s chronological age is 18 weeks but biologically is between 29 to 31 weeks, this is result of single treatment of Accelerated Aging.”

He gave a single nod of acknowledgment while simply observing it. It wasn’t curled in on itself anymore. It had a small hose taped to the side of its face that lead into its mouth, a wire with a glowing red ball tied to its foot and a needle in its arm. The wires led out of the tank and to a monitoring station of multiple screens, one a steady heartbeat.

“Not an expert on what a healthy baby is ‘sposed to be, but the thing’s showin’ a lotta rib.” Fontaine wasn’t concerned for its health for _its_ benefit but his own. It’s no good to him starved.

“Yes, the accelerated aging takes a lot from the body, can leave it malnourished. This time, had we not stepped in it would have died.” Tenenbaum indicated to the monitoring system now wired to it.

“That is why we need to let it continue development naturally, until it is ready for removal from gestation.” She sounded insistent, as though she were asking his permission.

“And how longs that gonna take?” He was told in the latest report to expect it to be done cookin’ by the end of this week.

“At least 10 weeks.” 

“And Suchong says that is much too long time!” the Asian came quickly stomping his way into the conversation.

“Mr. Fontaine, if you give the word we can administer next dose of Lot 111 and age baby to that of 2 year old by end of week and begin training it, as promised.”

Tenenbaum showed the most commonly used of the few emotions she seemed capable of, annoyance.

“My apologies, _sir_ , but I must disagree with that course of action, the fetus is in poor states as is. The stress of the last treatment nearly killed it.”

“Bah! We were simply unprepared for the ADAM infused amniotic fluids by _your_ design to be so inadequate at providing baby with essential nutrients needed for survival. Suchong has fix that, Suchong’s waters are better for baby so now there is no problem.”, he knocked on the glass of the gestation tube to show off the new orange glowing fluids the thing float in.

Fontaine watched the fetus stir. Seeming disturbed by the banging on its glass enclosure, It bumped itself in the face with a balled fist and its sleeping expression twitched before opening its eyes.

Tenenbaum gave an audible inhale and satisfied sound while scribbling on her ever-present clipboard and walked off to the monitor station.

Fontaine was pretty surprised himself, not thinkin’ a baby could open its eyes till it were born.

“Ah see, Suchong’s waters make baby healthy, is ready for more growth Suchong thinks. Yes Mr. Fontaine?”

Tenenbaum slammed her clipboard to the desk with a clatter, turning to Fontaine to look him in the eye, something she rarely did.

Now maybe it was just ‘cause it made her seem more alive but Fontaine couldn’t help appreciating the anger contorting her face.

“…Frank, if that infant is forced into another growth spurt so soon and it _does_ survive which I severely doubt. Administering another treatment of Accelerated Aging will surely leave it disfigured, just as those girls. All our time, all the money you have put into this venture may become for naught.”

Her voice was calm but clipped. Fontaine could see by the fire in her eyes she was doing her all to hold back less than polite words.

And boy if he didn’t wanna just fan those flames and burn away the mask hiding the secrets of what really made the woman tic.

“Suchong has seen your failed subjects, hideous creatures. But those mistakes are your own, they do not account for how Suchong works. Baby is on life assist, it will aid in rapid ageing and an older body is a stronger one, it can handle it.”

Fontaine rubbed his temple, knowing he’d have to be the deciding vote in this debate and reiterated their arguments weighing the pros and cons.

Running his hand down his face, Fontaine startled when he caught sight of the infant’s own newly opened eyes that had zeroed in on him.

Fontaine held the stare of those dark beady eyes with what absurdly felt like a challenge.

It really was too boney to be healthy.

Mind made, he addressed the arguing intellects while never breaking eye contact with the thing, as if it might make a move if he looked away.

“We’ll wait. Let it grow like normal.” He couldn’t afford to botch an investment like this by getting impatient. A good hustler knows how to take his losses and turn them to a profit.

Patience pays.

“Babuya! Is foolish waste of Suchong’s time.” Suchong left muttering curses in his tongue the whole way out. Neither of the remaining two paid him mind, both fascinated with the new life sluggishly turning its head to discover more of its surrounding with curious gaze.

 “10 weeks. That’s it.” His final words spoken absolute, he didn’t bother to wait for any more input from the woman.

Fontaine rapped a knuckle to the glass in farewell.

“See ya, kid.”

 

***

 

“Bathysphere’ll be here in 10, Boss.”

“Yeah, thanks Reg.”

Fontaine waved a dismissive hand to his man Reggie, focused on the mirror as he tied or attempted to tie the bowtie. He’d had the ‘ _prestige privilege’_ of being invited to one of that fruitjob Cohen’s balls.

The man sure did love his balls, from what Fontaine had heard.

He smirked at his own witticism just as the phone in his study rang. Fontaine let out an irked noise and let the tie hang limp around his neck, he hated bowties but it was a ‘ _Bowtie Event’_.

He went to the study connected to his bedroom and answered the telephone that sat atop his messy desk.

“Fontaine residence.” In reflex he put on a false smile to go with his phony courtesy.

“Hello, Mr. Fontaine. Is Suchong.”

“What’da ya want?” he dropped his guise completely. He wasn’t too pleased with the eggheads, seeing as they were two weeks late on progressing his pet project.

“Well, we were expecting you would be here for extraction.” Suchong sounded impatient.

“Extraction?” at that he heard the impudent chink make a noise of annoyance.

“Do you not read weekly report? Why Suchong go to trouble if you not even…” the oriental trailed off into his native language, probably cursing him. Not that he could give a damn. Fontaine’s eyes searched his disordered workspace, scanning for mail he’d not opened.

“Baby is complete from incubation period and we extracting from gestation tube today. We _would_ have done so hours ago, but we were _waiting_ for Mr. Fontaine’s arrival, as he stated he wished to be present for it.”

While half-listening to the man piss and moan, Fontaine had open the most recent letter from Suchong out of the 4 he’d yet to read. Hell, he could barely read the bastard’s broken English and chicken scratch writing anyway. Fontaine could make out some words like complete and extract along with a date and time.

_‘blah blah blah scribble scribble - extract baby on XX/XX at 7:00pm’_

Ops, seems he was late for the ‘birth’ and _the good doctor_ wasn’t happy to be kept waiting.

Well now he had a serious conundrum.

Either go to the ‘ _extravagant_ _ball’_ of Sander Cohen and be surrounded by stuffed shirts with their noses so far up each other’s asses he couldn’t tell where one end and the other began.

Or

Go to watch the ‘birth’ of a frankenstein infant in a blindingly bright, cold lab with a couple of overpaid, maverick, quacks he could barely understand.

It wasn’t a hard decision.

Fontaine adjusted the receiver back to his ear and was welcomed with the sound of Suchong shouting about ‘time wasted’ and ‘being blow off’, sometimes slipping back into Korean.

“Yeah, hey.” The man didn’t hear him over his own yelling. So Fontaine yelled louder.

“SUCHONG!” Finally, the bastard shut up.

“Hold up on the uh - _delivery_. I’ll be there within the hour.”

“Hmph, Mr. Fontaine already hour lat-“

He hung up, not giving a shit about the man’s bitching.

Fontaine left his study, ripping the untied bow from his neck before popping open the top two buttons of his dress shirt. He grabbed his blazer and threw open his bedroom door to nearly run into Reggie who had a fist ready to knock.

“Subs here, Boss” Reggie stepped aside as Fontaine passed and gave him a good-natured slap on the chest.

“Perfect. Change of plans. We’re headed to Fontaine Futuristics.” He shrugged on his blazer as his made his way down the foyer.

“What for? We gonna need to pack heat?” Ha, Fontaine knew the man was already carrying. Neither men ever left their homes unarmed, hell they were never unarmed at home neither.

 “Only heat we gotta pack is some matches for cigars.” Fontaine stride out the door and around the zen garden, not bothering to lock up knowing Reggie would. He mashed the button for the elevator and leaned on the wall to wait.

“Already in ya ‘sphere, boss. What’s the occasion?” Fontaine smirked and let out a chuckle as he clasped his right-hand man on the shoulder.

“Reggie my man, you’re lookin’ at the soon to be ‘ _proud papa’_ of Andrew Ryan’s little bouncing bastard.”

***Ding***

“Heh, well _mazel tov_ sir, lobby or the back way?” Fontaine’s personal elevator had three levels; his penthouse, the lobby and a ‘maintenance room’ dubbed ‘the back way’. Very useful when he wanted to go by undetected.

Frank Fontaine was known nowadays as one of the biggest captains of industry in Rapture, rivaled only by Augustus Sinclair and Andrew Ryan.

With that kind of esteemed fame came paparazzi, stalkers and nosey competition. The ability to slip away unseen was essential.

“Lobby.” It was less suspicious. Right now, he was just a successful businessman skipping out on a night of fun in favor of work.

“So, what’re ya gonna name him?”

Oh, it never occurred to him it’d probably have to be _called_ something, whatever it didn’t matter anyway.

“Nothin’. This thing ain’t gonna be a person.” The eggheads could call it whatever the hell they pleased.

Heh, it’ll probably be Lab Rat.

 

***

 

Fontaine burst through the double doors of the lab and strolled in like he owned the place.

‘Cause he did.

Reggie trailed behind him, Fontaine figured it’d look a bit suspect if he left his muscle to keep watch in the wide windowed lobby as usual. This time of night the building was empty save for _these_ _two_.

Tenenbaum had her back to him, messing with some sorta glass box on wheels while Suchong stood atop a ladder looking over the unreasonably large baby container. Suchong was the first to notice him or maybe Tenenbaum had and just didn’t care.

The geneticist climbed down, sparing Reggie -who’d made himself comfortable leaning against a wall, a glance before addressing Fontaine.

“Ah, since Mr. Fontaine has finally arrived, we can now begin. Tenenbaum, may we begin?’

She gave a wordless nod, not bothering to look up. Suchong rolled on a long thick rubber glove that came to his shoulder and grabbed what looked like a cartoonishly long pair off tongs before making his way back up the ladder.

Fontaine got closer to take a better look at the thing. It looked stacks better, no longer like something about to keel over from starvation. It was bigger and plumper, with rolls of fat on its arms and legs like he’d seen on well-off folk’s kids.

Not needing tubes and wires to help it stay alive now, the little thing once again drift on its own in the giant pod of glowing goop. It wasn’t stretched out and looking around like the last time he’d seen it but upside down and in a fetal position with eyes closed.

Suchong plunged his entire gloved arm into the orange liquid that was more like a sludge, trying to grab the infant with those giant tongs but struggled to secure a grip as the infant’s limbs were curled protectively on itself.

Finally, after some colourful foreign language, he’d manage to wedge the tool around the baby’s tightly curled foot and tugged it up towards the surface of the thick orange stuff. With its bottom half breached, Suchong carelessly threw the goopy tongs over the side of the giant tube making the two spectators jump as it hit the tiles with a clatter.

With his gloved hand, the scientist quickly grabbed the baby’s leg before it could slowly sink back down and pulled it up and out of the goop by its ankle and gave it a little shake.

“Ah here we are.” He held it closer and squinted his eyes in examination.

“Bah, is very fat. Suchong tell Tenenbaum we letting it gestate for too long.” With that declaration the man casually swung it over the pod to dangle over what was easily an 8-foot drop to hard tile.

Across the room, Reggie had started to attention with arms subtly extended in a reflex to catch the newborn, Fontaine’s own crossed arms stiffened in irritation with how recklessly the oriental was throwing around his fragile multi-thousand-dollar investment.

Tenenbaum didn’t even pause from whatever the hell she was working on with that wired up glass case.

The room was completely silent as seconds ticked by with Suchong holding out the baby coated in slippery orange slime out by its ankle over the ladder’s edge. Fontaine could feel a vein pulsing in his head and just as he was about to snap and ask the mook what the hell he was waiting for, the scientist beat him to it with an impatient-

“Well? Here!”

And shook the very expensive life at him.

Fontaine turned to the German, expecting her to come grab it. She finally had the curtesy to grace them with her attention only to say-

“I am busy, bring it here.”

The Asian made and irritated noise and promptly thrust the infant covered in thick gooey residue at him again.

“Here.”

His eye was definitely twitching. He jerkily faced Reggie and motioned for the man to come grab it but the man, looking squeamish, just put his hands up and sheepishly shook his head in rebuttal.

Fontaine was pretty sure that throbbing vein in his head had just burst.

Every breathing soul in this room was under his payroll. So how the hell did he get stuck doin’ the dirty work?

He clicked his tongue in irritation as he shucked off his blazer and started rolling up his sleeves, not giving a damn as the geneticist made a point of showing his impatience with a huff.

Fontaine approached and flicked his wrists as he tentatively reached out to grab the slimy infant still silently dangling upside down.

His hands circled around the thing’s waist, its extended leg curling back over the other as Suchong released it into Fontaine’s grasp.

It was disgusting.

Fontaine warily lifted it up to get a better look at the upside-down infant. Its eyes were sealed firmly shut and it’d yet to really move or make a sound.

Weren’t living babies ‘sposed to cry when they was born?

Just as he was about to voice this, the German said-

“Hurry and bring it here.”

Fuckin’ uppity scientists.

Keeping the thing at arm’s length, Fontaine carefully made his way to the biologist who’d now stepped back from the glass case and to the sink that had a sort of curvy, metal tub placed over it.

She ushered him over and directed him to the tub.

“Place it in here. The infant must be sanitized- mind its head, the fontanels in its skull have not yet sutured and is still soft.”

With some creative words that’d make a sailor blush and with absolutely **no** help from the kraut scientist two feet away, Fontaine somehow got it turned around so he could lay it in the curved tub, supporting its head in the palm of his hand.

It was so tiny.

“Shouldn’t a newborn be screamin? Thing ain’t made a sound.”

A “Hm” of acknowledgment was all he got out of the woman before she shooed him away and moved a stethoscope into her ears, placing the end bit over the infant’s chest. She moved it, listening before taking the instrument out of her ears and grabbing a long q-tip.

She squeezed the infant’s jaw open to ram the q-tip down its throat and twist the cotton swab around non-too gentle.

Fontaine absently rubbed his own throat as dread began to set in.

Was it dead? The thing didn’t even look like it was breathing. Rapture help those two crackpots if all this ended up just being a waste-

Silence and plans of pre-meditated murder were interrupted by a wet gargling that elevated into a deafening wail that sought to tell all who could hear that it lived.

And by extension, two scientists.

Despite the reverb of piercing screams making him wince, a wide grin settled on his face at the earsplitting evidence of success.

“Strong set of pipes on ‘em.”, His good mood wasted on a woman who could hardly be called a conversationalist on the best day. Seeming to ignore him, she listened again to the infant’s chest before stepping back to grab a rag and deposit it in his hand.

“Clean it.”

Ever a woman of few words, she spun on her heel, trotting off to her so very important glass box.

Oh, if only he could let loose and shout out his lungs too. But with the bundle of screams dominating all sound in the room, that’d be a losing battle.

 “…”

Fontaine just looked down at the squirming _thing_ covered in slimy, orange whatever the fuck it was and wondered how he was supposed to make _that_ clean.

He wet the rag and gingerly wiped the gunk from its stomach, feeling pretty far out of his element.

He’d never so much as held a baby in his life.

How was he supposed to _clean it_ when the damn thing wouldn’t sit still? And how did you get ‘em to shut back up?

“Christ kid, put a sock in it already.”

He scrunched his nose as he feebly wiped down its kicking legs.

Guh, why was it so wrinkled?

To think a sucker would choose to have one of these.

“Uh -boss,” at some point Reggie’d made his way by his side, “You got this? --I mean, you want I should take over? Or-”

If Frank were to ever feel gratitude towards another human being only once in this life, it would be at this very moment.

With obvious relief, he unceremoniously dropped the rag with a plop on the wailing wiggle-worm’s chest and shook the water off his hands.

“Ya know Reg, its times like these I wonder how I would’a made it down here in this fish bowl without ya,” Fontaine said with a toothy grin.

“Ah come off it Boss, we’s both know that aint true,” Reggie smirked good naturedly, not the least bit offended at the certainty Frank has never once had a thought along those lines. Afterall, he knew who he’d been working for all these years.

Fontaine gave a shrug as if to say ‘whaddya gonna do’ before settling against the counter a good few feet away. He side-eyed Reggie as the man made good on his offer and picked up where he’d left off with scrubbing the gunk off the still crying newborn.

Despite offering, Reggie seemed almost hesitant to touch as he gently cupped its head and began cleaning off the rest of the goop. Fontaine observed as the man, although clearly out of practice, maneuvered the squirming infant with familiar ease.

Makes sense, the guy had been a father.

 **Had** been.

Well, At least they had _someone_ here with experience takin’ care of babies, Fontaine mused as he eyed the doctor that’d been dangling the newborn over the edge of that tank like it was a slab of meat to be fed to the lions, then spared the other scientist a glance.

Yup, she still managed to ignore anything and everything outside of her personal bubble, refusing to interact with the world unless it was on her terms.

“Shhh… Shh...Shh.”

Fontaine turned his attention back to Reggie and the infant. Looks like the man had managed to clean it off and now held it to his chest, bouncing lightly while making sounds of reassurance in an attempt to quite its cries.

An attempt that seem to be working.

It was certainly an interesting sight, this big bruiser from The Bronx he done seen bash in more heads than he could even be bothered to count gettin’ all schmaltzy over a kid.

Interesting, but not surprising.

“Ah yes, neonatal pod is ready for infant now.”

Reggie’d jolted at the woman’s voice, as if forgetting where he was completely. Fontaine watched in amusement as the man tried to play it off with a cough before going to pass the baby to Tenenbaum.

“Nein, just put it in pod,” The scientist seem to physically recoil from him and the infant held out to her, taking a step back and pointing over to the glass box she’d been fretting over since before they got here.

Reggie shrugged it off and went to place the newborn in the box made of glass save for the bottom, which was more of a leather foam with a vague humanoid cutout and leather straps.

Tenenbaum waste no time shooing the thug away and got to work, sticking wires to the baby and begun to shove a tube down its throat only for her progress to be impeded by the screaming infant’s tiny flailing arms and kicking legs. She frowned then grabbed each limb to restrain them with the leather straps attached to the base.

While Fontaine was usually content to leave the technical aspects of his business enterprises to the eggheads he employed, this was an investment he wanted to keep track with every step of the way.

“So, whats with the box?”

“Is neonatal pod,” Continuing where she left off, she stuck the tube down the baby’s throat, causing it to pause its crying to choke momentarily.

“And whats this needle pod ‘sposed to do exactly?” Fontaine asked as he shook out a cigarette from the pack, wincing as she shoved tubes in less… ideal places.

Unperturbed, she explained while she attached wires and tubes to a contraption under the pod on wheels.

“Is providing nutrition through oral feeding tube, keeping it clean via fecal and urinary collector, provides oxygen and monitors vital organs, heart, lungs, et cetera,” Finished setting up her machine, she sealed the glass case shut, affectively silencing the baby’s cries to the world.

“Efficiently sustaining its life with little involvement required of us,” Tenenbaum concluded as she skirt by him to wash her hands.

“Hmh, and here I thought I was payin’ ya to be involved with it,” Fontaine snorted as the woman searched her pockets before offering her a smoke out of his own pack. He fished out his matches and lit it for her as the other scientist made his way to the counter to wash his own hands.

“Huah, and Mr. Fontaine expect Suchong to spend his time washing and changing uh —diaper all day, who would be developing him plasmids then? Hm, answer Suchong that.”

Fontaine just rolled his eyes not bothering to respond to the man, instead strolling over to glass pod, and where Reggie’d migrated, as to get a better look at his squirming investment.

It was a bit of an unnerving sight, seeing this little baby strapped down like a con about to go the way of injection. He offered Reggie a smoke while mourning his thinning pack, but the man looked like he could use something stronger than tobacco.

Tenenbaum moved past them both to flip a switch on the baby’s life support that brought a monitor alive and started a steady stream of beeps which he figured had to be its heart.

“We will observe it for tonight, run some tests. Then we will see about larger dose of ageing plasmid,” The woman offered airily before leaving the lab.

“Yes, if Suchong’s estimates correct we should have it to age of two-year-old and walking around by end of next week,” he enthusiastically added.

“Well then, guess I’ll be payin’ ya’ll a visit come the end of two weeks,” Fontaine replied as his snubbed out his cigarette. Reggie, taking that as their cue to leave, was out the door as if hell were lappin’ at his heels.

Fontaine chuckled and knocked his knuckles against the glass pod.

“See ya, kid.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So so so... what can I say? I've had this and chapter 10 of MPMB sitting in my 'Done' folder for near 2 years now but after falling in love with Bioshock all over again... and again... and again, I gave myself a kick in the pants and decided to put them out there. Will I continue them? Who Knows! Will I finish them? M-Maybe! The shitty thing is I know exactly the story I want to tell but finishing projects has never been one of my strong suits... >.>  
> I know realistically they prolly just took Jasmine's embryo and inserted it into another female and she birthed it while an NPC took care of baby Jack yadda yadda, but that shit ain't no fun!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Tis but a tiny, simple chapter.

This was hell.

Fontaine tuned out Sander Cohen’s latest ‘ _artistically acclaimed masterpiece’_ in an attempt to preserve a portion of his working brain. No wonder these elitists were such easy marks, Fontaine looked over the vacant-eyed crowd around him.

Just a bunch of grandiose sheep bein’ steered by the shepherds.

_“That’s the show folks, thank you for enjoying the splendor of Sander Cohen’s chef-d'oeuvre ‘A Wolf in Lamb’s Frock.’_

Two and half hours he’d stuck it out in Cohen’s circle of hell, watching grown men prance around the stage in leotards that left little to the imagination.

 Now came the grand reception where the highbrows would be giving the man his lap of honor and Fontaine would be free to work the room. Only reason he stomached these little self-stroking shows of Cohen’s is ‘cause there weren’t no better place for puttin’ out his feelers and gettin’ in the know.

While scanning the floor of fat cats and arm candy gallivanting about; staking out any opportunity to con or a fresh grift, he caught sight of the man of the hour himself sauntering on towards him.

“Well, Well, Mr. Fontaine, good of you to make an appearance. I must confess I had my —misgivings when receiving your RSVP for this, the premiere of my young masterwork considering your previous abscondence of my Masque Gala.” Sander talked as if Fontaine had committed a foul scandal by failing to show up to his little dress-up ball.

“Apologies, ‘fraid something came up that required my attention. You know how it is, business.” Fontaine placidly replied on an exhale of smoke.

“Be that as it may, I would ask of you if such a situation were to arise that you might be so considerate as to send notice even if it were the very last minute!” The artist was getting heated, gesticulating with his usual flourish.

“To see even a single empty seat on what was to be shared as a night of majesty was to experience the disposition of a wife made to watch her husband fuck the consort!”

Fontaine did little more than stand there and dwindle away his cigar as the artist chased his own tail. This wasn’t his first time being on the receiving end of a Cohen tantrum, at these parties they tend to happen more often than they didn’t.

Fontaine didn’t need to be such an excellent judge of character to see the man was nuttier than a fruitcake. Folks down here just call that bein’ the ‘tortured artist.’

“Fresh from the stage and yet as vivacious as ever, my friend.”

“Andrew!”

No man had business bein’ able to reproduce the squeal of a teenaged girl so ridiculously well, Fontaine thought disparagingly as the appearance of Andrew Ryan seem to sweep Cohen off his feet and out of his rant of crazy.

Fontaine disregarded their conversation as it drifted into the usual pleasantries of back-patting trite, only keeping a civil ear in the discussion as his eyes sweep the room.

Ah, Augustus Sinclair; now there was a tout who kept in other’s affairs and wasn’t shy to share for the right incentive. Might go shake his tree and see whats to see.

“ —Three additional buildings I’ve contracted to be constructed and Sinclair offers me a large sum for ownership of one.”

“Ownership you say?” Now there was an interesting notion.

Ryan frowns momentarily, wary of his previously taciturn, business rival’s sudden interest in the conversation, “Yes. Though I found his offer lacking and declined. For what he was to pay me I will have earned within 2 years, leasing the space out.”

Space. Down here that was somethin’ men other than Ryan didn’t own. If you wanted a space in Andrew Ryan’s city to set up shop or even a corner to lay ya head, then you’d be renting it out from Ryan.

Frank hadn’t realized till just now that real estate was something he wanted.

“So what figures would you consider to be less than lacking?” he probed in a suggestive tone.

“What are you prepared to offer,” Andrew Ryan shot back.

Now Cohen was the one spacing out, finding the sight of Silas Cobb more appealing than their corporate hoo-hah, and called after the younger man while the two industrialist sussed it out.

The two couldn’t thrash it but Fontaine, not one to let somethin’ he wants slip on by wouldn’t leave the matter here. He’d stick a pin in this and keep tab. Well the night was young, plenty of opportunity to turn the tables on this rum do.

Now where had that Sinclair moseyed off to?

 

Come 1 a.m. and the party was ringing down the curtain on what Fontaine would say was a successful night of networking. As he sat in his personal bathysphere, he considered the hour and figured there was still time for one last business trip.

 

***

 

“Ah— No! Bad baby, up! Baby get up!”

“Hmm, perhaps it is needing better motivation.”

“Feh, _‘motivation’ —_ need training!”

Fontaine could hear the two bickering all the way from the end of the hall, he was gonna have to see about them keeping the project in a more secure area, away from any snooping eyes and ears; they weren’t the only ones he employed in this building.

He paused in the drab lab’s entrance when he caught sight of the two crouched over something on the floor.

“Perhaps something sweet…”

“Is very enough fat without candy.”

With the clicking of his shoes on tile giving him away, the attention of both scientists turned and snapped to him.

“Ah, Mr. Fontaine here very late.”

“A matter of perspective, Suchong. Why I’d say I was very early,” Fontaine eyed the small body that lay on its stomach faced away from him.

It was clothed in a somewhat large grey gown and cloth nappy, and now had thick tuffs of light hair sticking up every which-way.

“Was in the area, figured I’d drop in and be seein’ how thing’er comin’”

Tenenbaum nudged it with her pen and received little response, “It shit on floor earlier.”

“…‘kay.” What was he supposed to say to that?

“We have also been unsuccessful in getting it to walk; it crawled once, using almost entirely arms to pull itself.”

“Baby is glutton, lay here all-day stuffing face.”

“I think we aged him too much, too quickly. He has deformed.”

Now that she mentioned it from what he could see it did look a bit top heavy, Its arms noticeably longer than its legs.

Suchong shook his head and lifted the now-toddler off the ground by its upper arm and tried to stand it on its feet. Its knees quiver then buckled and down it went back to the floor. Fontaine’d expected it to start cryin’ but little more than a whine it didn’t make a peep.

The Korean presumably cursed and grabbed a rolled-up newspaper to swat the toddler’s bottom and legs. Unbothered by Suchong’s reprisal it flopped onto its belly and made spit bubbles.

Tenenbaum sighed and held out a bowl of what Frank was quick to identify as gruel, the toddler’s head snapped up and he eagerly shoved his hand in, grabbing a baby-fists worth and smeared it on its face in what was a poor shot for its mouth.

“So is this ‘bein’ deformed permanent?” Fontaine’s lip curled in disgust as the baby licked down its arm, chasing the dripping mush.

“Nein, aging plasmid works gradually over a period of days, I am certain of if we wait it out his body will regulate to changes… I am also believing we will need to administer smaller doses; growing him at a more steady rate, as to avoid any lasting malformations.”

Fontaine gave a nondescript hum as they both watch Suchong try and fail to get it walking; the best try being it standing on its own a whole 15 second before collapsing when it lifted its foot to take a step.

The geneticist hung his head, biting out sharp words while the baby leaned forward to fall to its belly, stretching its arms in an effort to get to the bowl of gruel before pouting and laying its cheek back on the cold floor in defeat.

“Hmm…”

Having a thought, Tenenbaum retrieved the mush, waved it at the toddler while snapping her fingers to get its attention as she returned to crouch next to Frank. It made grabbing motions with it hands and muted whines.

“Come now little one, you are hungry, yes?” she coaxed and pat her stained skirt. The toddler tried to pull itself with its arms alone in a manner Fontaine found reminiscent of a crippled puppy, but its whines escalated to tears and red-faced blubbering as it became frustrated.

Tenenbaum caught Fontaine off guard when she shoved the bowl at him. She then rounded the young boy, grabbing him by the scruff of his gown to lift him up and lead him as if he were a puppet. The toddler’s head swiveled around to take in the dull off-white room from his two-foot vantage point.

Fontaine noted it looked even more off while standing, its long arms coming to its knees.

“Well? Call for him,” the woman barked as if he were just supposed to know that.

Fontaine crouched, skeptically held out the gruel and whistled for it as if he really were calling a dog. The little child blinked curiously, just taking notice of the new arrival. It made grabby hands at him and with Tenenbaum keeping it steady, took a few steps.

It stopped to look down at its feet before cracking a big grin and bouncing in place while flapping its hands in excitement over its newfound ability to walk. He whistled to get it going again and as it bounded on with a smile Tenenbaum gave it some slack, loosening her hold on its scruff the closer it got.

With five feet left between them she released it altogether and quietly hung back as it carried on the journey alone but hardly arms distance away it lost it, veering off to the left with its momentum carrying it in what would’ve been a nasty fall if Fontaine hadn’t thrown out an arm to catch it.

The thing hung off his arm looking baffled, “Whew,” he released a brief whistle in appreciation of his save. It craned its neck back to stare up at him and delivered a wide smile.

“Hmm… perhaps it was curiosity of you that spurred him into walking…” the woman thought aloud, observing their interaction. The boy didn’t spare a glace to the gruel he’d been so desperate for, all his attention now focused solely on Fontaine.

“ _Walking_ she says, Baby barley move sixty centimeters before failure,” Suchong contrasted.

Tiny fists entered Fontaine’s line of sight as it got its grubby hands on his face, trying to grab for his mouth. He grimaced and pushed its hands down. It was puckering its mouth, making faces at him.

“But he _did_ walk, this is most surely progress, now if only we were to get him house broken.”

“Lay off,” he ground out, thoroughly annoyed with its inability to keep its hands off him, nearly pushing it away once it’d gotten ahold of his bottom lip. It replied back with what he’d say were angry baby noises.

“Frank.”

“Wha—?”

“Whistle.”

He cocked a brow, humoring her with a flat note and was taken aback by the boy’s overjoyed giggles, having to grab ahold of it as to stop it from toppling over as it tip-tapped on its toes and blew raspberries at him.

“Hmh, he is attempting to mimic you.”

“Pfft, I aint never tap-danced in my life,” His cheek went unappreciated, met only with blank stares. Well, excluding the pair of eyes beaming from up under his nose at him.

The tot shot off another round of raspberries, effectively drenching itself in drool and gifting him with splash back to his chin.

“Perhaps we can use that to better teach him.”

Fontaine shook out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the stray droplets. He jolts when outta nowhere it practicality headbutts him in the chest.

“Oof, Jesus… What do’ya mean, use what?” it rest its head against him, absently picking at the gold plated buttons of his waistcoat.

“Mimicry, imitation. Perhaps if you were to—”

“I’m gonna go ahead and stop ya right there sister. I’m paying _you_ two to grow and learn the thing,” he gesture to the toddler that’d plastered its slobbering little face to his vest to chew on a button.

“Whaddo I look like—” he paused to place his hand over the boy’s entire face and push him a good foot away, “Saint Emiliani?”

“I was merely suggesting that since it has developed a fondness of you, that it might respond—"

“’Fondness?’ Suchong see no fondness. All Suchong see is baby like the shiny,” Suchong point to the tot that’d now grabbed ahold of his hand and was playing with his fingers and Rolex.

“Any matter, mimicry? That no way to learn. What they say… ‘what monkey do, other monkey do too.’ No, Suchong developing better way of learning. Is Educational therapy, device teach baby everything it need know!”

“Yeah that’s great’n all,” Fontaine yanked his wrist back when the baby tried dragging his watch to its mouth, “But what about the uh—brainwashing?”

“Brain… wash?” Suchong blinked. “Ah, the conditioning.”

“Yeah, the conditioning. Mind control. Makin’ it do what I—” Fontaine had to pull his arm back again as it tried sticking his fingers in its drooly mouth this time. “I tell it to.”

“Suchong work very good on that too! By using the aversion and reward system of the brain Suchong will be able—”

“Kid, eat your own goddamn fingers!” the child poked out his bottom lip, on the verge of tears when Fontaine refused his hand from him a 3rd time.

It dropped to sit. Whimpered and reached out for him when Fontaine, having enough of the little spit and snot factory, went to stand up. Then in nothing flat, it was full on bawling.

“And what’s that s’posed to solve huh?” he squat back down to its level.

“Waah,” he lampooned as it carried on, “Waah,” shooting back scoffs at its weeping.

“Waah.”  

“Now he mimics the child…” Tenenbaum pinched the bridge of her nose to stave off the incoming headache, “Shush! Baby be quiet!” Then Suchong comes bolstering in with his rolled-up newspaper and starts swatting at it.

“The hell’s that gonna help!?” he had to shout at the other man over the reverbing wails.

“Aversion therapy! Teach baby no reward for misbehave! —No cry! Is a bad baby!” The Asian shouted back between swings.

“What you aint got a cork for it!?” Suchong paused for a second to interpret his words.

“Cork?” What is cork!?”

“I mean—!” He ripped the damn newspaper from the slant, throwing it over his shoulder cause that shit was getting annoying and sure as fuck wasn’t helping anything. Then covered the source of the screamin’ with his hand.

“I mean,” He continued tersely, “a goddamn cork, what you stick in its gob to shut it up.” Both geniuses just offered blank looks to him then blinked at one another as if they might know the answer.

“Ya know it’s like a—” Fontaine snapped his fingers trying to convey to these dolts what he meant. The fussing under his palm died down and was replaced with the feeling of it suckling on the skin between his thumb and finger.

“A cork does this here,” with a stroke of genius, he held the toddler’s fist and poked out its thumb, then replaced his hand with its own before it could startup another fit.

It seemed momentarily stunned by the switcheroo, hiccupping behind its thumb before sucking and settling into a droopy-eyed calm.

Having defused the tyke-bomb, Fontaine stood up with a clap of his hands and lit up a celebratory cigarette.

“So… ya said you’re gonna be able to brainwash the ankle-biter proper? Get it to do anything I tell it to, no matter what it is?” the little boy gave him a sleepy look when he nudged it with the toe of his shoe.

The oriental nod, “Suchong have many uh—methods he will be experimenting with to make baby completely compliant.” A grin that might’ve shaken the devil grew on the man’s face. This was the kind of science he relished in.

“Yes—psychological, neurological, surgical… Suchong have many methods…” With a gleam in his eye, he spoke almost dreamily.

Fontaine regarded Frau Kraut. Chewing her nails, staring at the tot sittin’ at his feet. She’d been quiet— while that wasn’t unusual, she seem off. Anxious.

“Well that’s just great, real happy to hear that. But just remember, this here,” he pointed to the boy, “Aint exactly replaceable, so you best be keepin’ any quackery to the clinic and off his cuttin’ table.”

With hands in pockets, he stepped over the child to amble over to the ‘good doctor.’

“And just so we’re _real_ clear here, you break it, you buy it. Suchong, you couldn’t even afford the interest,” he spoke dangerously with an exhale of smoke through his nose, “and I think we both know what happens to people who try’n fuck me outta what’s mine.”

If Suchong had a smile that could chill the devil, then Frank had a look that could send him to his grave.

“So. Suchong. _Are we clear_?” he starred him square in the eye and give the man a face-full of smoke. Suchong stood stock still, his adam’s apple bobbing and that maniacal gleam in his eye was snubbed out with fear. It took him a few seconds to collect himself with a response.

“Y-yes sir, Suchong understanding very well what investment this is for Mr. Fontaine. Suchong do very good work. No quack.”

 Fontaine clasp the other’s shoulder, offering a smile that was not meant to be found reassuring. “Of course you will, aint let me down yet,” as quick as it came the smile dropped, “so lets keep it at _yet_.”

“Understood Mr. Fontaine.” Suchong gave a stiff nod and Fontaine granted one of his own. Turning to leave he offered Tenenbaum a bastardized two finger salute, expecting nothing and getting nothing in return.

On his way out Fontaine squat a final time to ruffle the sleepy tot’s unruly mop.

“See ya, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suchong has gotta be by far the easiest character for me to write. My favorite line from the Rapture novel is from him. 
> 
> Suchong to a pregnant woman. _“Yes… I can feel the… offspring moving. Almost ready for emergence. The creature wishes to come out and feed.”_ Haha, what a terrible man.


End file.
